


Measuring You Up

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AU where reader prevents Arthur from getting TB and recovers the Blackwater treasure, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Male Protagonist, POV Male Character, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: You've been trying to get Arthur to take off his work clothes and go to sleep without constantly being on guard while in camp. You decide that maybe buying him a pair of custom-fitted pajamas will be enough to persuade him...[	"I bought myself some of these a while back, and damn if they aren’t the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept in. Figured maybe you’d like a pair. Come on, partner. Put 'em on. Please? For me?" Arthur scowled down at you, running a hand over his stubbly face and considering. He made a little sound of disapproval in his throat and your heart dropped. "Please?" you begged, letting your eyes widen slightly, sticking your bottom lip just the tiniest bit further out. Stone cold outlaw or not, Arthur was, at heart, a big softie, and you knew it. ]
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Male!Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 83





	Measuring You Up

You held the warm wool pajamas up enticingly at him, waving them a bit, setting the legs fluttering back and forth. They were well-crafted pajamas that would cover from the neck to the toes, encompassing the feet comfortably and fitting snuggly around the arms. It had taken you a couple of weeks to get all the right measurements, slowly counting out finger's breadths whenever you touched Arthur, grazing your hands over him under the pretext of checking for ticks or pulling him closer at night while you were out camping, or stepping up next to him and comparing your heights. It was a game of attempted subtlety, and sometimes Arthur gave you odd looks, but finally you had the proper measurements and you had ordered these pajamas for him the last time you were in the nearest town, hoping to finally see the big outlaw relax at night.

It hurt you to see him sleep in all his clothing, constantly on edge, terrified that someone would come into the camp and he would have to be up, ready to protect everyone, ready to run. You'd only recently persuaded him to stop wearing his boots to bed, and you knew he did it to humor you, but he kept them close to his cot, ready to be pulled on in a moment's notice. But with this new camp, this camp _far_ to the west of the Grizzlies and away from those damn Pinkertons, you were all more at ease. Even Dutch seemed to have calmed, though you had been certain he was going to kill you when you showed up to the old camp outside Valentine all those months ago with saddlebags full of money slung over your shoulder, the Blackwater haul.

"What in God's name were you thinking, Y/N?" the man had screeched in that hoarse voice of his, and you'd just smiled and handed the bags over.

"Thought maybe you were serious about wanting to get the hell out of here and disappear, boss," you had told him in a cheeky tone and you had seen Arthur fight back a cackle at that, amused that you had decided to prove yourself as the newest gang member by recovering the money they had lost. That was all it had taken for him to finally admit that he liked you, and you'd only grown closer since then. You had gone out to the Downes' place with him shortly after that, pulling him back guardedly when the obviously sick man started coughing.

"Watch it, Arthur," you'd warned, eyeing Downes suspiciously. "Looks like this one's got the consumption. Tell Strauss the man's money's no good to him. Come on, let's go."

"We've got a job that needs doin'," Arthur had argued and you'd tugged him back further, staring at Downes, who was hacking and coughing, blood splattering his fist where he held it in front of his mouth.

"I've known a few men died of consumption, Arthur. It ain't worth it. Let's go." Arthur had spluttered and nagged and complained and finally you'd talked him into going out hunting with you to make up the money to Strauss. On that trip you'd climbed into his tent, grappling with him, your legs slung over his hips, kissing him hard and rough and after his initial shock and anger, he had softened, pulled you close.

Which was why you wanted him to relax, finally, to take the break he so deserved.

"What in the hell are those?" he demanded as you held the pajamas you'd bought him toward him invitingly. He wrinkled that well-formed nose of his, making him look like a wolf disgusted by something it has smelled and for a moment you were offended, but you calmed yourself and smiled up at him.

"I bought myself some of these a while back, and damn if they aren’t the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept in. Figured maybe you’d like a pair. Come on, partner. Put 'em on. Please? For me?" Arthur scowled down at you, running a hand over his stubbly face and considering. He made a little sound of disapproval in his throat and your heart dropped. "Please?" you begged, letting your eyes widen slightly, sticking your bottom lip just the tiniest bit further out. Stone cold outlaw or not, Arthur was, at heart, a big softie, and you knew it.

"Oh, don't do that to me," he grumbled, but he reached out a hand and took the pajamas, shucking his clothing and his union suit, flipping the pajamas at you when you gave a lascivious whistle at his naked form. "Hush it."

"I didn't say nothin'."

"Shut it. Enough," he ordered when you opened your mouth to speak again, but he was grinning at you. He buttoned it up and kind of _wiggled_ in place, letting the material hug his muscular form. You eyed him with an appreciative gaze, noting that your measurements had been quite correct as the material shrugged around his wide shoulders, flattening across his belly and curving over the globes of his hard ass – one you wanted to be buried deep inside of, but you weren’t there just yet. "Well," he declared, looking surprised, "these fit real good. Very nice!" You warmed at the happiness in his tone.

"Nothing but the best for you, partner," you told him and he reddened a bit, still unused to open affection, especially from you.

"I reckon I can hang around in camp in these until nightfall," he commented and you gave a frustrated sigh.

"Arthur..."

"Don't you 'Arthur' me, boah. I gotta be ready for action, you know that."

"It's been months since we saw hide nor hair of either Pinkertons or bounty hunters," you reminded him, standing and approaching him, rubbing fingers approvingly over the soft material of your gift, digging the tips of your fingers into the hard muscle beneath it, hearing Arthur let out a sigh of pleasure at your touch. "I'll tell you what: if you'll wear these and just...relax, sleep, for once, not in your clothes, I'll stand guard, make sure you know if you need to get up and get dressed quick. I'll have your clothes all together and your guns with them, and I’ll guard outside your tent. Just...please." Arthur stared at you for a long moment, considering.

"Well," he drawled, "alright. I guess I can wear 'em just the one night."

"Thank you," you told him gratefully.

When night fell, Arthur laid down on his cot in his new warm pajamas and you stepped outside, rifle in hand, pulling up a wicker chair and sitting in it quietly, watching for danger. You really wished Arthur would close the flaps of his tent as well, give himself a truly undisturbed night’s rest, but the man was stubborn and he could only be pushed so far before he became obstinate and brutish, all ruffled feathers and bristly sarcasm.

You awoke with a start to a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. It was fully night now, but a full moon and the three usual fires lit the camp clearing, making it easy to see.

"Ain't no use guardin' if you're asleep, partner," Arthur chided you. You were worried for a moment that he was angry with you, but you saw that he was all sleepy eyes and ruddy cheeks, soft and affectionate in the cool night air. He put a hand on your shoulder, giving it significant weight, directing you out of the chair and toward his tent.

“You sure?” you asked him. You had slept in the same tent whenever you were out in the field, on errands and trips to gather supplies or information, but within the camp itself, there were clear boundaries that Arthur had drawn, unspoken though they might be. His tent was his own, with his own mementos, pictures and clutter. You knew he grew crotchety and annoyed if anyone touched his things, Miss Grimshaw included, often standing with his hands unhappily on his hips as she ran a damp rag over everything, always insisting upon cleanliness within her domain.

“Shoah,” he murmured, and that was all the encouragement you needed, stepping closer to him, your breaths mingling in the cool of the night. He eyed you, a strand of his hair falling haphazardly across his face. “You gonna sleep in my clean cot with them dirty clothes of yours?” he asked you in a teasing tone. You smirked.

“I suppose I can take ‘em off if you’ll let those tent flaps down.” Arthur flushed at that, looking embarrassed, and you knew you’d pushed just a little too far. Arthur was far from virginal, but he was shy and deliberate in his courting of you, sometimes taken aback whenever you made your attempts at courting him, two gentlemen caught in a tango of affection and staunch principles that neither of you could quite abandon. You were too stubborn to push any harder, and he was too stoic to encourage you with anything more than gentle looks and the occasional unintentionally deliberate touching of the backs of your hands to each other’s whenever you stood too close. You took a step back now, calming the wild beating of your heart at the thought of sleeping next to him again, at the fear that you had ruined the moment with your bold insinuations. “I’ll go grab my pajamas,” you advised, and you did so quickly, shucking your clothing and wiping down with a dampened cloth you’d sprayed with cologne, running your comb through your hair where it had been mussed.

When you approached his tent, Arthur was already laid out long and lanky on his cot and you wondered if two full-grown men could fit on the thing, but he scooted over and patted the space next to him as an inviting gesture.

“Let them tent flaps down afore you lie down, will ya?” he requested in a husky voice. The night grew brighter as your pupils dilated with excitement, and you did as he asked, lying down next to him and letting him pull you close. There was a brief power struggle as you each fought to be the one cupping your body along the back of the other, but at last Arthur was curled around you, his arm slung across your chest, pulling you tight against him and slinging his threadbare quilt over both of you. You could feel his breath against your ear, and the warmth of his body through the layers of your pajamas felt right.

“Didn’t know if you’d ever want to do this…you know…in camp,” you admitted. He chuckled softly, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Didn’t bring you in here to chat, partner, brought you in here to sleep,” he told you in a cozy, sleepy voice. He yawned, his big ribcage expanding and then contracting as he sucked in the massive breath, his legs adjusting to tangle in yours.

“Alright, then,” you said softly, allowing yourself to relax and feeling sleep settling back over you like a heavy blanket. Just as you were beginning to drift off, you heard Arthur’s quiet voice.

“Thanks for the pajamas. I reckon you can sleep here more often, if you want.”

“I do,” you breathed back, squeezing his hand. He made a contented sound in his throat and the two of you, him all in his soft blue pajamas and you in your matching green ones, snuggled together and fell asleep, tangled in blissful comfort.


End file.
